


A Bridge to a Greater Understanding

by sgamadison



Series: Coffee and Pie [1]
Category: Agent Carter - Fandom, Wonder Woman (2017)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 15:27:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11382996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sgamadison/pseuds/sgamadison
Summary: The first of a series of vignettes imagining Peggy Carter and Diana Prince meeting at the end of S1 of Agent Carter. Come on, you know they'd be BFFs. They've both loved and lost--and have so much in common.





	A Bridge to a Greater Understanding

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for S1 Agent Carter and the 2017 Wonder Woman movie. Discussion of grief and loss.

Diana stepped through the library doors into the fading light and paused at the top of the stairs, considering her options.

It was a lovely evening. She closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Yes, there was still the exhaust fumes from the motor vehicles and the sulfurous odors belched out of the factories across the river, but if she concentrated, she could pick out the dank scent of the docks, as well as wet earth and green grass. Demeter’s power might be diminished among the mortar and brick, but it was still there if Diana paid attention. The land called to her, as did the hint of autumn in the air. The nights had been cooler lately, enough to warrant a coat, and a stiff breeze came off the water with the setting of the sun. She welcomed the change in seasons. With summer’s end, the city air was no longer stifling. It also meant she could more easily tuck her shield beneath her coat, and no one was the wiser.

Not that she needed to carry the shield. Sometimes she did so simply because it reminded her of who she was and where she’d come from.

The smoggy air had one benefit: it made for breathtaking sunsets. This evening's was spectacular. That decided her. Though she was well-supplied with reading material to keep her occupied for the next week or so, she missed the physical activity of training. She also missed riding across open fields at a gallop, the wind causing her eyes to tear as she leaned down low across her mount’s neck and called out encouragement as his hooves pounded in ground-eating strides. One of the advantages of relocating to New York City after the war was the presence of Central Park and the ability to rent a horse on a regular basis for an hour or two. It paled in comparison to her rides across Themyscria. Here she was expected to ride sedately, as befitting a lady. No thundering over fields of waving grass, a sword in her hand, ready to strike. Nor were there serene mornings in brilliant sunshine, practicing katas before breakfast. No heart-pounding afternoons in the heat of the day, blocking punches and exchanging blows with her companions.

She could really use a sparring partner. She was getting soft.

Very well. She would walk home this evening. A tiny part of her hoped someone would stupidly challenge her, would assume a woman wearing spectacles and carrying a bag of books might be an easy target for harassment—or worse. She punched down that wishful thinking, knowing that it rose in part out of boredom. But only in part. That path, the one of superior self-righteousness, took her perilously close to the edge of anger. She could feel it still simmering there, just below the surface, like a font of lava loosely covered by a thin, black crust. Even after all this time, which was disconcerting.

Since the war ended, she’d found herself at loose ends, that’s all.

Her boots clicked authoritatively as she strode along the sidewalk. She liked the clothing of this era better than the previous time she’d faced global war. Though there was still a ridiculous impediment to serious fighting, the styles were flattering to the figure and far less likely to compromise breathing. The remembrance of that first shopping trip in London, when Steve and Etta had helped her blend in, swept over her suddenly. For once, the memory was untainted with sorrow. She only felt a sense of wry amusement, knowing what she did now and how very gauche and naïve she must have seemed to Etta back then.

It was only when she recalled exactly why she’d relocated in New York that the grief punched her in the gut. For a while after Steve’s death, she’d kept in touch with the old team. She’d even collaborated with them for other missions, to help tie up ‘loose ends’. She’d needed their guidance, their humanity. And if she was completely honest with herself, their connection to Steve. She’d become friends with Etta, both of them mourning Steve’s loss in their own way, though they had very little in common. Etta’s world views had been edifying, however, and had gone a long way in helping Diana decide the best course of action in the following years.

There may have been a time when the gods walked the Earth among the mortals, but no longer. Nor did the world of Man appreciate the existence of demi-gods. Or demi-goddesses, as the case may be. Such beings and their abilities had been relegated to mythology. Diana found herself more isolated than she could have ever imagined: not biddable enough to fit in a world where women were still viewed as scarcely more than property, and too independent to make friends easily with either sex. Any scholar as well-read on the classics as Diana often refused discourse because she was a woman—and of course, she could wipe the floors with any of them in a physical match.

And while she enjoyed many of the conversations with the women she met, too often these women allowed themselves to be subjugated by the men in their lives or the societal norms. It often struck her as odd that growing up in Themyscria, protected from the rest of the world in such an insular existence, had made her more enlightened, not less.

It made her appreciate her upbringing all the more.

When the ‘War to End All Wars’ had ceased, it had been hard to maintain the relationships with Steve’s team. One by one, the others drifted away. Chief disappeared first, gone without a forwarding address. Sameer took a job in the States, presumably opening a restaurant, though Diana was never entirely sure if that was the real story or an elaborate cover. Charlie clung the longest, only to lose his way deeper and deeper into the bottle. The longer she’d stayed in Steve’s world, the less Diana felt like she could go back to the island. And then another war had broken out, and leaving was no longer an option.

Not to mention, it was hard to return to a place that was hidden in space and time. Even for a demi-goddess.

An envious comment from Etta, who’d remarked how Diana never seemed to age, precipitated the move to New York after the end of WW2. It seemed to make sense. Only Steve’s team had any inkling of her true nature, and even then, they thought of her as some sort of charmed, inexplicably well-trained fighter rather than a demi-goddess. Belatedly, she’d learned caution about revealing her origins. Either that, or the strictures of the society in which she lived were rubbing off on her.

She snorted at that thought. Perhaps not. But it wasn’t just Etta who would notice her perpetual youth if she stayed in one place too long. So would everyone around her. If she wanted to keep her real nature a secret, it meant relocating every so often. Outside of Themyscria, all of Diana’s friendships would necessarily be short-lived, more so if she kept her immortality a secret, moving on when it became obvious, as with Etta, that she wasn’t aging. Even if she chose to share her secret, the thought of watching friends grow older and die while she remained the same was nearly unbearable. It would also take the right sort of person who could accept Diana’s gifts without resentment. Without knowing the full truth, there was envy in Etta’s voice when she reflected on Diana’s unchanging nature.

It would have been better if Diana had returned to the island, but she couldn’t. Especially not after all she had experienced helping Steve end his war. Her mother had been right about many things. Her inability to go home was one of them.

Nor would it have been the same without Antiope. She could almost forget that her aunt was also dead. Easier to banish that memory than it was with Steve because every day she still walked in his world. Somehow it was easier to imagine everyone alive and well in Themyscria without her.

That there had been another world conflict after the one she thought of as ‘Steve’s War’ had almost broken her. She had destroyed Ares. Surely that should have been the end of it, yes? What good was she if she couldn’t end the evil that was war?

But no. Man didn’t seem to need Ares to instigate his aggressions now. Perhaps he never did. Maybe all along, all Ares had ever done was take advantage of a weak, degenerate species. Certainly the history of mankind indicated he was more than capable of creating his own nightmarish situations, his own evil. His own personal hell.

Every time she nearly lost herself in the horror that man could inflict upon his fellows, she remembered Steve’s shining example. He’d been no saint. Far from perfect. But somehow that made his ability to rise above his inherent nature all the more heroic. Her time among the mortals had made her realize just how fragile they were. Their lives were so brief compared to hers. She had the wisdom of centuries of civilizations behind her. The average man had what—sixty, seventy good years? No wonder they were so selfish and protective of their time on Earth. Which made Steve’s sacrifice all the more breathtaking. Even though she replayed the sequence of events leading to Steve’s death a thousand times in her mind, she knew it couldn’t have ended any other way. His love—and his death—had ultimately kept her from being seduced by the anger that Ares had planned to consume her. If only it had been a battle fought and won the single time.

No one told her that she would have to fight that anger every day the rest of her life.

She wouldn’t think of that now. She shook off the dark thoughts with long practice. Around her, the rosy glow of the fading sun painted the sides of the tall buildings, reflecting back the warm light from thousands of glass windows. She could still admire a sunset, and savor the planned evening ahead.

Which of the books she’d chosen would she read tonight? For edification, there was Darwin’s _The Origin of the Species_. Peal S. Buck’s _Pavilion of Women_ had been chosen because the title reminded her of home. For sheer entertainment, there was Daphne du Maurier’s _Rebecca_ , and Josephine Tey’s _Miss Pym Disposes_. She looked forward to curling up on the couch in her little apartment and reading to her heart’s content.

Books had long been her friends, the one constant in a world she sometimes didn’t understand. Especially when she no longer felt as though she belonged, or understood her place in the universe. She could count on books.

So what if part of her suggested it was a lonely and pathetic existence? She was between wars. She had a right to rest for a while.

The streets were relatively quiet. Most people were probably at dinner or getting ready to go out for the evening. The fishy scent of wet wood and mud assaulted her as she approached the bridge, and yet her lips curved appreciatively. One of the hardest things about giving up Themyscria was the loss of connection with nature. Diana _needed_ to spend some time among green, living things to feel truly connected to the world she’d sworn herself to protect. She missed the murmur of the sea, and the clear, clean light of the moon on the beach. She missed the deep, earthy smell of damp leaves and dirt beneath her feet, and the brilliance of the sun on the whitewashed buildings of Themyscria in the mornings.

But most of all, she missed the communion of her sisters-in-arms, her comrades, her companions.

That, and Steve Trevor. Time had blunted the loss of both, and yet there were evenings when, like tonight, she still mourned as if only weeks had passed, instead of decades.

Deep within her thoughts, she didn’t notice the figure on the bridge ahead of her at first. The sight of a stranger triggered a rapid threat assessment, but she quickly dismissed the idea this person was dangerous. For one thing, it was a woman, and though Diana had known many formidable warriors in her time, rarely had she encountered a woman outside of her Amazon clan who knew how to fight. There was also an air of sorrow in the woman’s posture as she stood at the railing that belied any risk to anyone but herself. In fact, the sight of the woman alone on the bridge, looking out over the river, sent a shiver of concern through Diana. Surely she wasn’t contemplating suicide? Diana picked up her pace, hoping to intervene without precipitating foolish action on the woman’s part.

As Diana approached, she could see the woman was stylishly dressed, despite having come out without a hat. That was unusual enough to suggest she was too distraught to remember it. The sunlight glinted off her watch as she rotated her hand, dumping the contents of a small vial into the river. Blood-red nails gleamed, matching the liquid that flowed from the vial. For the briefest of moments, Diana recalled Dr. Poison and her treacherous concoctions that had ultimately killed Steve. A well of anger boiled up within, and Diana’s fists clenched as she hurried to intercept this stranger on the bridge. It might be too late to prevent her from contaminating the river with that mysterious vial but the Lasso of Truth would force her to reveal the contents.

Her hand slipped beneath her coat to rest on the golden rope coiled at her hip.

But then the peach-colored light of the setting sun kissed the woman’s cheeks, highlighting the tears trailing down them. And as Diana instinctively slowed her pace, she heard the woman murmur, “Goodbye, my darling.”

The words hit Diana like an unblocked kick to the chest.

She pulled up abruptly, like a horse suddenly faced with a ditch too great to leap.

It’s possible that had Diana continued walking, the other woman would have remained cocooned in her grief and ignored her, but Diana’s sudden halt forced the woman to take notice of her. The narrowing of the well-dressed stranger’s eyes sent a little fission of recognition through Diana. She was being _assessed_ , by Hera. Assessed by this stranger, who subtly shifted into a position of defense, one leg back, body angled sideways. Making herself a smaller target while adjusting her weight off her kicking leg. The vial was no longer in sight.

Diana smiled, hoping to make the other woman feel less threatened.

It didn’t work.

She cleared her throat, pushing the unnecessary glasses up the bridge of her nose. She’d often found such a gesture made her seem less intimidating for some reason. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just—” Something about the other woman made Diana realize anything less than completely honesty would be useless here. “I couldn’t help but notice you. There at the railing. Is everything all right?”

The woman inhaled sharply. Lips painted in a deep, rich red parted in surprise, and then suddenly curved into a smile. “Oh dear. You thought—? No. I’m fine. Really, I am.”

Her accent was British, and for a moment, Diana was reminded of Etta. Other than the lilt in her voice, however, the two women couldn’t have been more different. Etta was short and round, pragmatic in a comforting way. This woman possessed a kind of preciseness about her, elegant and fashionable. Dangerous. But vulnerable, too.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, you don’t exactly look fine. You seem… pensive.”

“Pensive.” The dark-haired woman repeated the word, rolling it off her tongue as though savoring the sound of it. “Now there’s a nice fine word you don’t hear often these days. But you’re right. It suits the occasion.” Without a shred of self-consciousness, she wiped the corner of her eye with the tip of her ring finger, brushing away the last tear. “All better now. Thank you for your concern.”

“Very well. If you’re sure.” Diana smiled again, a polite smile that begged pardon, and dipped her head in a short nod as she went around the woman to continue on across the bridge. She adjusted her book bag over one shoulder to disguise the somewhat bulky shape of the shield on her back. Perhaps the average person on the street would pay no mind, but something told her that _this_ woman would notice.

Diana had only taken a few steps when something made her stop and look back. “I say. I don’t suppose you could recommend a place where one could get a good cup of coffee?”

The tension was back in the stranger’s body again, muscles poised to act if threatened.

Curiouser and curiouser. Who had taught this woman to be so defensive? More importantly, what _woman_ had given her cause to be ready to fight at the drop of a hat, so to speak? It was an interesting puzzle, and if Diana was honest with herself, an exciting one too. Another long moment passed between them, and then the woman relaxed ever so slightly.

“The L&L Automat isn’t too far from here.” The woman shrugged. “The coffee’s only tolerable, but they’ve got decent pie.”

“Pie?” Diana perked up as though she were a collie who’d heard the Master’s whistle. Pie was good but… “Would they by any chance serve it _à la mode_?”

The stranger’s face broke into a real smile, not the shadow image of before. “It wouldn’t be apple pie without ice cream.”

“Ice cream.” The words came out in a little moan, and Diana blinked at herself, startled at how orgasmic she sounded. “I mean, that would be wonderful, thank you. And this automat is located…?”

To Diana's surprised delight, the woman came away from the railing. “I’ll show you. I’m headed that way.”

Nothing was more natural than for the two of them to fall into step together. Drawn by the pleasant sound of the tapping of their heels on the pavement, Diana glanced down. A small sound of admiration escaped her. “Oh, those shoes are lovely! Where did you get them?”

“These?” The woman briefly lifted one foot out in front of her, showing off the blue peep-toe shoe. A neat little strap fastened around her ankle. “Would you believe Woolworth’s? These are just a cheap copy. If you want the originals, they have them at Macy’s.”

They continued walking. “I’ll have to look for them.” Diana frowned at her own boots. “I tend toward the practical, but I confess, sometimes I long for pretty things too.”

“Most women do.” The woman spoke lightly, but there was a hint of coolness to her voice. Diana wondered what she’d done wrong but shrugged it off. Whatever had this woman on the defensive, it was unlikely it had anything to do with Diana herself.

A moment later, the woman seemed to have come to some sort of decision. “It’s nice to have things in strong colors again. Everything was so drab during the war. My name’s Peggy. Peggy Carter.”

The memory of the first time Diana introduced herself to someone in this world was suddenly there, as though it had happened yesterday. She’d been in the process of identifying herself as the Princess of Themyscria when Steve had cut her off mid-word, and her new persona had been born. “Diana Prince.”

She could smile at the memory now, just a little. Why her ghosts were haunting her this evening, she had no idea. That was the funny thing about ghosts, though. You could make your peace with them and they still showed up from time to time. She stopped and held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, Miss Carter.”

Miss Carter seemed a little taken aback, but shook Diana’s hand. Her grip was firm, decisive, brief.

On the other side of the bridge, they continued for several blocks until Miss Carter paused at a side street. “The restaurant is about ten blocks this way.” Miss Carter pointed. “I happen to be going that direction, but if you’d prefer not to walk—”

“It’s a lovely evening and I don’t get the chance to walk as much as I’d like these days.”

With a nod, Miss Carter headed down the side street. Diana matched strides with her easily.

After a bit, Miss Carter shot her a sideways glance. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No more are you.” Diana had the sense of being interrogated. Subtly, expertly, but interrogated just the same. She wondered what would happen if she gave the wrong answer. “My family was originally from Greece.”

Well, that was more or less true.

“Ah.” Miss Carter’s tone was light. “I wondered. I was having trouble pinning down your accent. Why did you come to the United States, Miss Prince?”

“Please. Call me Diana.” She hardly knew who ‘Miss Prince’ was. As for the other… “What can I say? After the war, I was tired. I sought a new beginning. And you?”

“If I’m to call you Diana, you must call me Peggy.” She gave a little laugh. “I was assigned here during the war as a liaison officer for one of the American military bases. I liked it so much, I decided to remain on after the war ended.”

Her hands, still gloveless, bore no wedding ring. It was unusual for a single woman to find employment now that the boys were back home from the war. Perhaps she was still with the military. Pity they were unlikely to use her to her full potential. She was probably some sort of requisitions officer. But her actions on the bridge made more sense now. She’d been holding her own private memorial service.

“That explains it.” Diana deliberately kept her tone friendly, so there would be no misunderstanding as to her intent. 

“Explains what?” There was curiosity now.

Diana waved slightly in Peggy’s direction. “You seem so polished, so efficient. Yet you carry yourself like someone who knows how to fight.”

That earned Diana a lifted eyebrow. “I could say the same of you.”

Diana shrugged, but chose her words carefully. “My family believed in teaching women how to take care of themselves.”

“Interesting.”

The sun went behind the buildings, casting long shadows down the street in front of them. Withered leaves skittered along the sidewalk as the evening breeze stirred them playfully. Diana was glad for the brisk walk as well as the conversation. When Peggy asked her about her book bag, and the subject turned to literature, Diana grew animated as they discussed their favorite books. Peggy was well-read, and not just in the classics of literature, but the math and sciences as well. All too soon the neon light of the restaurant appeared.

“This is it.” Peggy came to a stop outside the diner, showing no inclination to go inside.

“Are you sure you won’t come in for a cup coffee? On me.” It wasn’t fair to ask Peggy to join her without offering to pay. For all she knew, Peggy couldn’t afford the treat.

“I think I will. Thank you.” Peggy’s acceptance had an odd air of reservation after their previous lively conversation, but Diana paid it no mind. With a wide smile, she opened the door to the diner.

She stopped just inside the door, a little bemused. The small diner had the usual booths she’d seen in restaurants before, this time upholstered in a kind of avocado-green material, but everything else was different. Behind the booths was a long, well-lit row of little shelves behind glass, divided into categories of _Pies and Pastries_ , _Beverages_ , and _Sandwiches_ in Art Deco lettering. There was a waitress at the counter, who tended the coffee and manned the till, but there was no other staff. A heavy-set man sat at the far end of the diner reading a newspaper, his fedora on the table beside his empty plate.

“I don’t understand.” Diana turned to Peggy. “How does it work?”

Peggy delicately arched an eyebrow. “You’ve never been in an automat before? You select your food or beverages from these vending areas here.” She indicated the glassed partitions. Diana could now see each little cubicle held a food item. “Come with me.”

Diana followed her over to the bank of food items. Peggy perused the pie selection, only to moan with pleasure. “French silk pie. My favorite.” She opened the little door and removed a generous slab of chocolate pie on a small plate. “If you want fresh coffee, Angie will bring it to the table.”

Diana scanned the selection of pies and pastries. There were more offerings than she expected for such an arrangement. Though she was tempted to see what made Peggy hum with delight, she had her heart set on ice cream, and for that, she needed apple pie. She spotted a slice, and opened the little door. “But the ice cream?” She added hopefully.

Peggy grinned. “You have to pay extra, but Angie will fix you up.” She picked up some forks, handing one to Diana, and headed back for the booths, selecting a table at the opposite end of the diner from the other customer.

The waitress, presumably Angie, was at their table before they had time to take a couple of napkins from the dispenser. Her eyes were shoe-button bright: she obviously knew Peggy and was bursting with news to share. She shot Diana a quick, envious glance as she poured them both coffee without asking, her lips pressed together with the effort of not speaking outright.

“Angie, Diana here would love some ice cream to go with her pie.” Peggy’s smile was indulgent, and for the first time, Diana saw a much softer side to her.

“Can do.” Angie finished topping off the mugs. “Vanilla or chocolate?”

“Oh.” It had never occurred to Diana to have chocolate ice cream with pie before. Maybe this was an American thing? “Both.”

“Both.” Angie laughed. “Must be nice to not have to worry about your figure. You’re smashing though. Are you a model?”

“Um, no.” Diana wasn’t entirely sure if she was being complemented or not but Angie’s demeanor seemed to suggest that she was. “I work at the Met.”

“Huh. Waste of talent, if you ask me.” Angie couldn’t hold back her news any longer. She turned to Peggy with an electric expression. “I got a call-back!”

“Oh, Angie!” Peggy’s pleasure was genuine. She reached for Angie’s hand and gave it a little squeeze. “That’s fantastic! Is it the one you were telling me about?”

Angie nodded vigorously before making an obvious effort to reel in her enthusiasm. “It’s only an off-Broadway production of _Oklahoma!,_ and only a chorus part at that, but at least it’s a call-back. It could lead to better things.”

“I’m sure it will.”

“Off, off Broadway.” It seemed important to Angie that she was completely honest with Peggy. “And a call-back doesn’t guarantee a part.”

“I’m sure they’ll love you.”

“Musical theater isn’t really my forte…”

“Angie.” Peggy leveled a calm stare at her. “Don’t talk yourself out of the part. You’re a wonderful actress. Know your value and embrace it.”

Angie beamed and blushed, ducking her head. “Right then. Two scoops of ice cream coming right up. Here. Let me take your pie and heat it up.” She took Diana’s plate with a smile and hurried off.

Peggy serenely added a small amount of sugar and cream to her steaming mug of coffee, and Diana found herself watching the perfectly manicured hands as they performed these little tasks.

“I’m guessing ‘smashing’ is a good thing.” The words surprised Diana. She’d had no intention of speaking them aloud.

Peggy looked up, her expression suddenly piercing. “Why yes, indeed. Surely you know you’re extremely attractive? Despite your efforts to appear less so.”

Diana felt as though she were a hart pinned in an expert archer’s sight. She weighed her words thoughtfully. “I’m not entirely sure what you mean. I think it’s a shame in general that a woman’s worth is largely bound up in how attractive she is. What a limiting criteria.”

“What I mean is that you wear glasses when you don’t need to do so. Presumably to make yourself less noticeable. Likewise the tight bun and the dowdy clothing.”

“My clothes are dowdy?” Come to think of it, Peggy effortlessly attained a style Diana could not seem to master, and she seemed nonetheless a warrior for it. Darn it. She missed Etta's guidance when it came to fashion. She would have to develop one of her own. “Wait. What makes you think I don’t need spectacles?”

Peggy gently rolled her eyes. “Please. The lenses are plain glass. No refraction. You don’t need them, except as a protective coloration, which I happen to know something about. And then there’s the matter of the shield you’re wearing under your coat.”

Diana stiffened. “What makes you think I’m wearing a shield?”

Peggy’s smile grew enigmatic. “I have a little experience with shields.”

It wasn’t exactly a comfortable smile. Diana had the feeling that Peggy had been playing her for some reason, getting her to talk about books and science as a means of taking her measure. Peggy had obviously pegged her as being different, and somehow this made Diana a threat. Annoyance flicked across Diana like the sting of a striking whip.

Before she could say anything, Angie reappeared with Diana’s pie, now plated with two scoops of ice cream: one vanilla, one chocolate. She waited while Diana took the first bite, and her smile grew wider when Diana sighed her appreciation. “Give us a yell if you need anything else.”

Diana took refuge in the warm pie and melting ice cream, concentrating on spooning the delectable flavors into her mouth rather than face the disquieting turn the conversation had taken. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. How did one respond? Better that she ignore the question of the shield altogether. When she finally looked up, Peggy was watching her.

In the silence that followed, Diana was aware the other patron was in the act of paying his bill and leaving the diner. Peggy took another bite of her pie, but her gaze remained firmly fixed on Diana.

Diana set down her fork reluctantly and spoke, feeling the need to explain herself to Peggy for some reason. “I sometimes get unwanted attention. It’s easier to downplay my appearance. To look drab.” Although she hadn’t realized the extent to which she’d done that until now. “I have no need to advertise who I am.”

Again, the words surprised her. She was revealing far more of herself to a relative stranger than she’d done in decades.

“I can understand that.” Peggy took a sip of coffee. “But I learned a long time ago to dress and act for myself, not for the people around me.”

“It doesn’t strike you as playing into society’s definition of you?” Diana really wanted to know.

Peggy shrugged. “Aren’t you doing the same by playing the mouse? At least my way, I get to wear the clothes that please me. There is also value in letting someone underestimate you because you are a ‘mere woman’. There’s been a time or two when I’ve been able to use my sexuality to my benefit.”

She made sense. Perhaps Diana didn’t need to take things to such an extreme. It was possible to blend in without making herself unattractive in the process. If nothing else, time in the mortal world had taught her that she wouldn’t be taken seriously simply because she was a woman. She might as well dress to please herself then.

Peggy’s next words were like an unexpected dagger to the ribs. “Why did you seek me out?”

“Excuse me, what?” Diana experienced an odd sinking feeling, as though she’d stepped onto firm ground only to discover a tiger trap beneath.

Peggy set down her mug. Steam rose gently from it, as innocent as though she were not squaring off with Diana right now, but they were just two friends out having coffee and pie. “You sought me out on the bridge. What do you want from me?”

Diana frowned. “I think you’re mistaken. As I said before, I saw you on the bridge and I thought—well, I thought you might do yourself harm. That’s why I spoke to you.”

“And this?” Peggy indicated the two of them sitting at the table together.

Diana let out a little sigh. “I thought you looked sad. I was feeling a bit sad myself. I thought perhaps you could use some company. I know I could.”

Peggy’s eyes narrowed briefly, then softened. “I see. Well, as a matter of fact, I was saying goodbye to a dear friend.”

“I gathered as much. I didn’t mean to intrude, but I couldn’t help but overhear a little.”

Peggy toyed with her fork, her appetite apparently gone. “Like so many others, he was lost during the war. His name was Steve. He was a pilot.”

Diana reared back in her seat, her nostrils flaring like a horse that had been ridden hard in battle. She clapped both hands down on the table with such force the plates jumped, and leaned into them to glare at Peggy. “How _dare_ you? Who told you to say that?” Who could possibly know Diana’s story, enough to wound her so deeply like this?

Peggy was taken aback, her surprise genuine as her eyes widened and her fist closed over the fork. “What in heavens name do you mean? Why would anyone tell me to say anything, let alone something private like that?” Her basic confidence returned, and she put the fork down. She balled up the napkin to toss it over the half-eaten pie, glaring back at Diana.

“ _I_ lost someone during the war.” Diana enunciated every word with exact precision. “His name was Steve. He was a pilot.” She snapped out her sentences in a slightly mocking tone.

This time Peggy’s mouth fell open in shock. The jolt was brief, however. Her brows pulled together as she spoke with clipped fury. “That’s impossible. Someone primed you with that information in order to get to me.”

“Why would anyone want to get to you? Who are you that makes you think you are so important?”

Peggy dismissed Diana’s anger with a furious wave of her hand. “Not me per se, but what I had. There on the bridge. Well, it’s too late, it’s gone now. You can’t have it.”

Angie appeared at the table as if by magic, coffee pot in hand and a bright smile pasted on her face. “Everything okay here? Can I top you off?” The hand holding the carafe hovered slightly over Diana’s lap, and she had the impression one nod from Peggy and the whole boiling contents would stream over her.

“We’re fine.” Peggy’s tone was anything but, yet the glance she spared Angie was plainly thankful even in its refusal of aid.

Diana waited until Angie retreated before saying, “I beg to differ. You have accused me of making up a story—of _lying_ —about something very sacred to me. Worse, you are claiming that this is _your_ story, as if I have no right to it.” Diana tapped the table in front of her with her index finger. “I am sorry that in a moment of weakness I thought to offer friendship, but I will tell you this, if you have put something in the river to harm the citizens of this city, I will see that justice is done.” She stood up abruptly, opened her wallet, and removed several bills, placing them on the table. “I trust this will cover the tab.”

She was on the point of leaving when Peggy spoke sharply. “What kind of plane was it?”

Diana whirled back to face her. “What?”

There were not many people who could stay calm in the brunt of Diana’s anger. Peggy Carter was one of the few. “The friend you lost. The pilot. What kind of plane was he flying when he died? Surely you’d know that.”

The look on Peggy’s face said it all, that she still did not believe Diana was telling the truth. The injustice of it made Diana spitting mad. Her howling rage at Steve's loss threatened to boil to the surface and she had to fight to control her emotions. “How should I know? I don’t know one plane from another. It was big—a bomber—and it was filled with b-bad things.” Her voice broke and this only made her angrier. “Chemical weapons. Horrible, deadly weapons meant to wipe out the countryside. And Steve chose destroy it—and himself—rather than let it fall into the wrong hands.”

It wasn’t until Peggy stood and offered a wad of paper napkins that Diana realized she was crying. She snatched them from Peggy’s hand with ill-grace, wiping her eyes and then blowing her nose before stuffing the napkins in her coat pocket.

“I’m sorry.” Peggy’s quiet words held real apology in them.

Diana sniffed. “I hate it when I get so mad I cry.”

Peggy snorted. “Me too.” She paused and added with a little smile, “What are the odds, huh? That you and I both have lost someone important to us, pilots named Steve.”

“It does seem unlikely.” Diana conceded grudgingly.

As though reading her mind, Peggy said, “You needn’t worry about what I poured into the river. A keepsake, that’s all. Something that had more power to harm if I kept it than if I got rid of it.”

Diana didn’t need the Lasso of Truth to know Peggy was speaking it. The sacrifice of her actions was written on her face.

“I’ll tell you about it someday.” Peggy hesitated. “That is, if you’d still like the company from time to time.”

“I’d like that.”

Diana stated the simple truth. It had done her good to vent some of her anger. She felt somehow cleansed, the air clearer for the passing storm.

“Good.” The tension oozed out of Peggy suddenly, and for the first time all evening, she seemed completely relaxed. “I look forward to it.”

“As do I,” Diana’s voice was serenely sweet. “For one thing, I’d like to know why you were so suspicious of me from the very start.”

Peggy arched an eyebrow at her. “You mean aside from the fake glasses, the hidden shield, and the fact you walk like an Amazon?”

Diana started at the reference, only to realize Peggy meant it figuratively, not literally. She shrugged. “We all have our stories. Some of them are more interesting than others.”

“I have a feeling your stories are _very_ interesting.” Peggy paused to indicate Diana’s plate. “I’m afraid your ice cream has melted.”

Diana glanced at the sodden mess, her appetite gone. “No matter. There will be other days for ice cream.”

“True. Besides, some stories call for something stronger than ice cream.” Peggy indicated the door with a nod. “You bought me coffee, may I buy you a drink?” She saw something in Diana’s face that made her add, “We can start with the little stories. Save the big ones for another time.”

“I’d like that.” Diana collected her book bag and watched as Peggy paid the bill. She and Angie exchanged quiet words, ones that made Angie peer around Peggy’s shoulder to stare at her, but Peggy’s smile was natural when she rejoined Diana at the door.

“I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship.” Peggy’s words had the air of being some sort of quote.

Diana countered with the only thing she could think of. “Or a bridge to a greater understanding.”

Peggy shot her a smile that seemed oddly shy. “That’s nice. I like that. Is that from a movie or a book?”

"Neither." Diana smiled back. "It was something my mother used to say."

The two of them stepped out into the cool night air.

 

~fin  


 


End file.
